


Dust in the Wind

by Texas_not_Tex



Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Texas_not_Tex/pseuds/Texas_not_Tex
Summary: Short drabble that popped into my head at like... 3:30 am. Set ambiguously late in the series. I'm emo
Relationships: Jet Black/Spike Spiegel
Kudos: 33





	Dust in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, 100% typed up at work, also I'm full of shit

"This is ridiculous,"   
Jet grumbles. "I feel like an empty-nester."

Spike replies, muffled, sprawled over the couch opposite him; his lanky limbs taking up the whole surface, one arm draped over his eyes.  
"You miss'em so much, get another mutt." 

The other man gives him a disparaging look. "You know it wouldn't be the same." Jet retorts.

The Bebop feels empty. Ed and Ein had gone off on their own a while ago-- on some wacky adventure of self-discovery, no doubt. Good for them.   
Faye was gone too, no word as to where or why (as usual) and no knowing if or when she'd come back. It was just Jet and Spike-- just like the old days.

But it hadn't felt so empty in the old days. 

Way back when they met, Jet had known Spike was just on loan to him. He had deep ties to something else, something in his past--that was always apparent. Their partnership was just a way of biding time until Spike's past caught up to him, springing shut, an iron grip like a trap for a wild animal. You could see it in his eyes, if you looked. Even while he was focused on you, you could see another part of him was far away, somewhere Jet knew he could never touch. 

Years had passed since they'd met. 

Spike wasn't the hollow thing he'd picked up like a stray. It became easy to forget-- they'd shared a lot: smiles, anger, different kinds of passion. Little by little they felt like friends. Little by little, they felt like more.   
It wasn't perfect, but the longer it went on, the more it felt like he could hope to play for keeps. Then they picked up the dog, then Faye, and lastly the radical Edward came on board. Maybe they hated each others' guts sometimes, but it was the most like a family that Jet could remember having.

He and Spike, hand in hand, and their motley crew-- dancing a slow, messy waltz across the stars. An unspoken, tenuous hope had bloomed in him, guilty and unsure; like a debt you owed but that hadn't been called in for so long that you'd begun to hope it was forgiven.   
But the Bebop was empty now. And something was giving him the feeling the debtors were at the door. 

Jet looked across the table at the unaware Spike-- spread out, eyes covered, listlessly dragging on a rumpled cigarette. He suddenly seemed so far away. 

"Wouldn't be the same,"  
He repeated quietly.


End file.
